The smile I put on before I answered her call slides off my face and tension cramps the muscles of my neck. After Zebulund leaves, I’m left with a sticky feeling I can’t shake. I had hoped hearing Mom would be a welcome respite from the superficial day but the second I hear her voice I know I’m wrong. Turns out I can hear if she’s not smiling through the phone too.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Everybody’s okay. Don’t worry,” she repeats.
“The more you say that the less it works, Ma.” The feeling of being watched is so tangible I get up and shut the door. Maybe this place is bugged. Nothing surprises me at this point. Being a celebrity means you lose your right to privacy. I can’t have an opinion or a personal life. Hell, I can’t even take a ten-minute break.
Man, I sound ungrateful sometimes. At least I keep it to myself.
“It’s about, uh, Uncle Jack.” Her voice is thin.
I don’t have an Uncle Jack. That’s code for the company I’m funding. The company that’s keeping the majority of my hometown employed, including both my parents.
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t think so. There’s some internal bleeding.”
“I’ll be there tonight.” I reach for my laptop to buy a flight.
“You can’t leave right now, sweetie. Your movie premieres soon. Paul’s on his way there. He’ll be there tonight. Can you meet him at nine?”
“Yeah, of course.” My schedule is booked solid but the worry in my mom’s voice is enough to motivate me to cancel all plans. “Where?”
“What hotel are you at?” Paper shuffles and I picture her in the kitchen digging through the junk drawer, frowning as she tries one dried-out pen after another before putting them all back. It’s almost enough to make me smile.
“No. Not here.” I glance around the room, feeling increasingly paranoid. “How about the place I took you and Dad the first time you ever came for a visit. You remember?”
“Sure, the—”
“Send him there. And don’t tell anybody else.”
“Are you okay, honey?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
At that moment, there's a tentative knock on the door which causes me to jump about a foot in the damn air. I run a hand over my face at my reaction to my ridiculous behavior. What I’d do for sleep.
“You don’t sound fine”—slight pause—“are you eating enough?” she asks like she has to walk on eggshells with me.
“Yes, Mom.”
“Make sure you’re not burning the candle at both ends.”
I feel the kind of guilt that only mothers can cause. “Yeah. Look, I gotta go. Tell Paul I’ll see him tonight. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
We disconnect and I stare at the picture of her and my dad that I use as their caller ID photo. It was one of the few times they’d come out here to visit. I don’t like this world mixing with my real life. My homesickness is so acute sometimes it’s worse than the stomach pains.
The knock comes again. I drop the phone on the bed and go to the door. “Coming.”
Rachel is back already and holds up a cup of coffee.
I squint skeptically.
“Traffic wasn’t that bad?” She grins as she shrugs.
“Right.” I take a long sip even though it burns my tongue and tastes like cheap hotel coffee.
